


the cold, sharp smell of the first frost.

by therealvalkyrie



Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: Established Relationship, F/M, Fluff, There are chickens, and a cat, and pumpkins, canonverse, it's all very cute, reader lives on a farm
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-13
Updated: 2021-02-13
Packaged: 2021-03-13 15:54:33
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,108
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29404401
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/therealvalkyrie/pseuds/therealvalkyrie
Summary: After your parents’ deaths, you manage the family farm while longing for your lover to come back again.
Relationships: Levi Ackerman & Reader
Comments: 2
Kudos: 18





	the cold, sharp smell of the first frost.

The frost comes early that year, creeping its way from the forest in the dead of night and across your fields. The chickens are the first to complain about it, clucking and chirping around your legs like a gaggle of church ladies all in a tizzy as you collect eggs. They tell you of the frost, the frost, the frost that seeped in the cracks of their coop and under their feathers. The pumpkins are next, vines slightly wilted under melting dewdrops. You murmur an apology and a promise to harvest them before nightfall as you pick your way through their patch.

When you reenter the house, egg basket in the creek of one elbow and sun well into the sky, the cat protests the flurry of autumn air accompanying you. She stretches in the sunspot by the kitchen table and fixes you with a reproachful stare.

“You spoiled thing,” you admonish as you step past her. Nevertheless, you pour the last of the cream into her saucer as a peace offering

Your morning passes in the usual way: making bread and setting it to rise on the windowsill; stoking the fire to cook yourself an omelet with cheese from the neighbors’ goat; flipping quietly through your inventory book to compare this years’ crop to last years’.

At noon, you haul buckets of water and a bushel of apples out to the workers in your fields. Timothy, who is skilled with a scythe, once again drops to a knee in a grand, sweeping gesture.

“Marry me!” He shouts your name across the fields. “Marry me and you’ll never have to work another day in your life.”

You answer in the customary fashion he has grown to expect: “Oh, but Timothy, I do love my work. And I know you only offer because your mother’s threatening to make you marry the MacNally girl.”

You tousle his hair teasingly as the other men laugh and he clutches his chest in pretend heartbreak.

After the meal, you meander back to the house, mentally checking off a to-do list for the day. The water buckets swing from your hands as you walk, kicking up dust from the path with the heels of your boots. It’s as you round the gentle curve around the cornfields and come into view of your home that you stop dead in your tracks. The water buckets clang to the ground, causing the distant figure to turn and your heart to stop.

Green cloak, black hair, impeccable posture.

“It can’t be…” you whisper. The figure spreads its arms wide and all of a sudden you’re running full tilt, hands hitching up your skirts past the point of decency, wind whipping your cheeks to a flush.

You crash into him and he stumbles back a bit with the force of it, quickly stabilizing you both on your feet. Your arms are around his middle and his are at your back and in your hair, holding tight.

“Levi,” you sob into the crook of his neck.

“I’m here.” His voice rumbles through you like the most exquisite summertime thunderstorm. “I’m here.”

It takes you several moments to calm your breathing and pull back to really look at him. He looks tired, as usual, and there’s a new scar on his cheek, but his eyes are warm and tender as he gazes back. You reach a hand up to trace the scar gingerly.

“I thought I wouldn’t see you until winter.”

“I got some time off after the latest mission and we weren’t too far away, so I thought I’d come see you. Is that okay?”

You scoff, though you know he’s joking with you. “It’s more than okay. You know how I miss you.”

“I missed you, too.”

“I love you.” This admission is quieter, more reverent, like a prayer.

“I love you, too.” He cups a hand on your cheek and his mouth quirks into a rare smile. Then, he’s kissing you like soft spring rain washing away the hurt of winter and you’re kissing back, two hands tangled in his raven hair.

You spend the afternoon simply lying in his arms in a patch of sunlight on your bed. He tells you of his training and the new squad he was given and the women who nearly throw themselves at his feet. You laugh at the absurd look on his face when he describes how one wealthy Interior woman offered to pay him for his company. He avoids talking about the mission, but you know he’ll say what he needs to when he can. Often, when he’s home, he’ll whisper horrified confessions in the dead of night about his time killing the Titans, and you’ll hold him to your chest as he weeps. But the daytime is for feeding him fresh bread and tea and relaying jokes the field workers tell.

When the sun dips low, you fasten a knit shawl around your shoulders and crook your hand in his elbow to go take the workers their weekly pay.

You introduce him to them with an air of pride: “This is Captain Levi of the Scout Regiment. Levi, these are my boys.”

He nods while they tip their caps and as you pass out the salaries, you can feel Timothy’s eyes flicking between the pair of you. When you reach out to pass him his money bag, he takes it and leans in a tad closer.

“Well, darlin’, if it couldn’t’ve been me, I’m glad it’s him,” he says lowly and with a cheeky wink.

You laugh and pat his shoulder, then return to Levi’s side to wave the lot of them off.

“What was that about?” The question is tinged with covetousness, and you rest a reassuring hand on his shoulder.

“You have their approval, is all. They’re very protective of me.” You gaze at him with earnesty for a moment before breaking out into giggles. “Come on, let’s eat. You must be starving.”

Levi helps with evening chores, recapturing an escaped chicken, pulling more water from the well, and sweeping the floor to within an inch of its life. You serve him a vegetable stew and afterwards settle in by the fire to read one of the new books he brought from the city. Your voice carries him through the story as he lays with his head in your lap. Rough, working fingers card through his hair and he allows his eyes to close, lulled by the night sounds of your home.

Outside in the dark, the frost twists up pumpkin vines again and snaps in the air, a warning for another harsh winter to come.


End file.
